provided and waiting to hear what Monique had to say.
“Let’s do this, girl,” she mumbled, encouraging herself as she locked her car, popped open her umbrella and began the short walk to the salon. “You’ve beaten Mr. Niko Drake once before. Let’s see if you can do it again.”
Niko left the men laughing as he exited the chair from his weekly haircut at the barbershop. That he’d given up his personal in-home treatment in favor of this public establishment had proved a good political move. Roy wasn’t as good with a pair of clippers and scissors as the barber who regularly came to the Drake estate and groomed all the men, but the camaraderie he’d established with Roy’s regulars, along with the votes he’d likely garnered as a result, was worth a temporary trade-off from being pampered inside the Drake estate walls. After leaving a generous tip and a supply of promotional campaign cards, he walked to his sports car and, after another stop, made quick work of the few blocks that separated the barbershop and the beauty salon that he also visited weekly, a shop co-owned by an ex-girlfriend and her mother. Later, when the weather warmed, he’d do more walking, but on a cool and damp day like today, he was glad not to have to.
He neared Joy’s House of Style and immediately noted more cars than usual. “Hmm, wonder what’s going on here?” he pondered aloud, looking for a close parking space and finding none. The word has probably gotten out that I show up most Saturdays, he thought with a wry smirk. No better marketing than word of mouth. He looked in the backseat and wished he’d bought more than the two dozen roses he’d picked up on the way here, a practice he’d begun during his first visit, when a vendor selling flowers had come into the shop. He’d bought the lot and given them out to every woman present. So as not to be seen as chauvinistic or pandering toward these women, he’d coined a phrase. “Women are like flowers,” he’d say as he shared them. “There’s more to you than just the bloom.”
Two steps into the shop and three things assailed him: the chatter of what sounded like dozens of women, the smell of food and a nearly life-size poster—okay, maybe he was exaggerating a bit but...wow—of his latest mayoral rival. Below the image of a smiling Monique Slater wearing a conservative black suit and a pleasant smile against a backdrop of law books and the American flag were the words New Mayor, New Vision, New Day. He’d barely had time to drink in the changes to the lobby when he heard applause coming from the back of the shop.
“Good morning, Niko!”
So caught up was he in all of these changes, he’d not even noticed the attractive receptionist always ready to flirt. He walked over to where she sat behind the receptionist counter. “Hello! Looks like you guys started the party without me.”
“You’re late, Mr. Mayor,” the receptionist purred, batting stark blue eyes and flipping thick, raven-colored hair over her shoulder. “Someone beat you to us this morning, and if the impression she’s making on our customers is any indication...you just might have a fight on your hands.”
“Oh, really?” Niko leaned forward, his eyes twinkling as he asked in a conspiratorial tone, “Who’s dared to come into my territory and challenge me?”
“I have.”
The unexpected declaration from behind him threw Niko for an unexpected loop. But only temporarily. Within seconds he’d regrouped, turning around and greeting his opponent with a sincere smile.
“Monique Slater,” he said, walking toward her with hand outstretched. “It’s good to see you again.”
Monique’s brow rose. “Is it?” She returned his handshake, firm and assured. Her eyes held a saucy mixture of intelligence and tease. “I wasn’t sure you’d remember our one and only former meeting.” She continued, her voice lowered so that only Niko could hear. “As I remember, things didn’t fare too well for you that day. Come November, I’m planning a similar outcome.”
“I’m sure you are,” Niko smoothly replied, allowing just a hint of bass into his voice. “I, on the other hand, am confident that there will be a very different ending. Though I must admit, your surprise strategy was quite effective, at least with me.” To her arched eyebrow he further explained, “Mo Slater.”
“Ah, yes. I was christened that in law school by a group of lovable jerks determined to make me hard as nails. They said Monique was too sexy, too feminine.”
“You are that,” Niko easily drawled.
Ignoring his comment, she replied, “Mo is friendly, casual, comfortable, a bit no-nonsense.”
“And unisex.”
“Yes.”
A very attractive woman wearing jeans, a silk sweater and five-inch heels rounded the corner. “Oh, there you are!” she said to Monique with a grin.
“Hello, Joy.”
“And with company, I see.” For Niko there was no smile; hadn’t been one since he’d broken up with her daughter, even though he and ex-girlfriend Ashley were on friendly terms. Joy turned back to Monique. “Some of the ladies who’ve offered to volunteer on your campaign wanted to know if you needed help today.”
“That’s very kind of them, but no, not today. Once they call the office, their names and contact information will be entered into our database, and they’ll be assigned to the appropriate committee or team. I’ll go back and explain myself so that they’re clear.”
Niko turned to the woman conspicuously ignoring him. “Hello, Joy. Didn’t know you were helping the competition.” He smiled. “But I’ll still give you a rose.”
He held one out to her. She refused it.
“Flowers are fine. But breakfast was better.” She turned to Monique. “Mo, where did you get those breakfast burritos? And that sauce that tastes like grape jelly? Amazing!”
“From a caterer who came highly recommended,” Monique responded. “I’m glad everyone enjoyed them.”
“If you ladies will excuse me,” Niko interrupted, not surprised at Joy’s rudeness but a tad chagrined. Out publicly for mere hours and the new candidate was already trying to steal some of his shine. “I’ll be on my way. Monique.” He held out his hand. “I look forward to a fair, friendly, yet hard-fought race.”
“You can count on it,” Monique replied as Joy chuckled.
Niko nodded at both women, then turned the corner into the shop’s main room. Soon, thoughts of what had just occurred were forgotten as he engaged the roomful of women in conversation. His topics shifted along with his personality; he was slightly flirtatious yet professional, down-to-earth yet knowledgeable, highbrow yet practical. Yes, this was a beauty shop, but some of the questions coming at him were intellectual and well thought out while others were simple and straightforward.
“We need more affordable housing,” one woman boasting big plastic rollers said. “Everyone isn’t wealthy like you. Do you have a plan for dealing with us regular folk?”
“What is your name, ma’am?”
“Diane,” she stated with a smile.
“First of all, that is a very
